True Love Never Dies
by TrollHiccup
Summary: My name is Hiccup.  I could have any woman in the village now that I've redefined "Viking", but I chose HER.  A serious character study.


**I own nothing but power.**

**True Love Never Dies**

I stand tall, facing my village. I watch the villagers move by me as though I'm invisible, rolling mead barrels back and forth. The wind slaps my rugged face, coarse from my need to shave, but I do not flinch. Not even the Green Death could make me flinch on such a day.

The wind blows so strongly that it molds my tunic to my chest—tightly, so that my chest hairs spring out from between the strictly woven threads of the fabric.

Again...I pay it no mind. My mind only focuses on one thing, and one thing only.

To day is the day Ruffnut Thorston is getting married.

To day is the day I, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, am going to crash her wedding.

The mead barrels are up-righted, the potato sacks folded and stacked for the after-wedding races, and Ruffnut—beautiful, psychotic Ruffnut—faces her husband-to-be.

Fishlegs Ingerman.

Fishlegs is her perfect match in every way. He is a nerd, so by marrying her he will make Ruffnut smarter. And Ruffnut liked blood, so she would make Fishlegs stop spouting off facts. It made so much sense—everyone said so. But I am senselessly in lust with her. I once thought it was love, until Snotlout had a deep talk with me, a tête-à-tête, as they say in Rome. He may say ridiculous things, but my cousin is very wise deep down. He taught me that figurative brothers must always come before women of the night, and that butter is better than margarine.

One could say he is wise beyond his _centuries_.

Things with Astrid had been going swimmingly until recently. Everyone thought she was a stuck up brat, but I soon learned the truth because I was the first who ever _truly_ bothered getting to know her. The very first. She was a very confused girl; she simply didn't understand human emotions, being bred and raised in a cage, knowing nothing but bloodlust. My gentle nature brought out the woman she was too afraid to reveal before. She confided in me...told me she only swung her hips, flipped her hair, and wore form-fitting clothes because she was following the other women's examples. She had no idea what they actually meant.

Sure, I looked at Ruffnut from afar, but I remained faithful to Astrid in our three, romance-filled weeks together. My penchant for blondes would not turn me into a two-timer. And I wasn't allowed to practice polygamy until my chest-hair covered three-fourths of my torso, anyway. Preferably a little of my back as well, but as the chief's son I'm sure they would make an exception.

The day I heard of Ruffnut's wedding was the day I fell into a depression. It was the day Astrid, in her tragically misguided sense of cheering up, took things too far. It was the day she gave me a purple nurple.

No one touches my nurples. No one.

Even Hoark knows this.

I immediately backhanded her for it—this was okay in our society because she drew first blood. That ended our fight (which consisted of a pinch and a backhand) as well as our relationship.

Astrid said we could try again when the bruising faded.

I shake my head, my hair fluttering in the air, gleaming in the sun, with every twist of my neck. I bring my attention back to the present.

The priest—whom we had imported from England because Fishlegs is a follower and converted to Christianity—is at the "I do"'s. I have been lost in thought for too long. Time is of the essence.

I run downhill, a most terrifying war cry rips from my throat like a vampire-baby rips from its poser vampire-mother's stomach. The slope gives me speed; my desperation gives me a terrifying expression. The sheep move out of the way.

One isn't fast enough and it has to be punted. There are casualties in every mission.

Every other step allows me to catch amazing air because I installed super coiled springs in my prosthetic.

I get closer and closer, the defined contours of my jaw move as I clench my teeth, a long, manly bellow flows from my thick throat.

Fishlegs moves in to kiss Ruffnut. His lips are as fat as his thighs.

By Thor, he could kill her!

I have to get there—I have to—!

A bandaged arm flies out and clotheslines me. I can feel my Adam's apple bob inward so far it strikes my spine. But it bobs back into place soon after; too many layers of muscle protect my neck from true damage.

I cough up phlegm and pick myself up from the ground. I see Astrid standing before me with her hands on her hips.

"Hiccup!" Astrid snaps. "Look!"

She points to her face. Everything fades out of existence. I don't hear the villagers cheering for the new Ingermans, I don't hear the cries of a dying sheep, I only _see_.

And what I see is a clear face...aside from the pimples lining her hairline, but it's far less than most other girls of this village.

I get them on my back, so no one has to know.

"Your bruise is gone," I observe out loud. She nods and does her hair-flippy thing. I'm mesmerized by the exposure of her roots.

She's a natural blonde.

"I'm the only woman you'll have," she declares, poking my chest so hard she breaks a nail. I realize several things in that moment.

She's a domineering woman, and I...I am a nervous wreck. I need someone to continually beat me down for me to finally feel good about myself. Ruffnut _could_ have done that, but Astrid is closer to my height.

"Yeah," I say, softly. "It's like you were..._created_ for me."

She moves closer and reaches her hand inside my tunic. She pets my chest like I pet Toothless. I start to purr, because my contact to dragons has begun a change I can't even comprehend.

"How far is your hair coming?" She asks. Her nimble fingers are able to braid cornrows against my chest, single handedly.

"It's almost at my belly button," I inform her.

"I thought it already was there?"

"I mean from the top."

She appears surprised. "Oh! I guess I have less time for you to myself than I thought."

She is teasing, but I can tell she is a little nervous.

Good. She should be. As much as I love Astrid (and I fear, this may be true love in its purest form), I don't think she can handle this much Viking. Toothless currently was taking a weeklong vacation in the cove, simply because he was exposed to me too much.

I unconsciously strike a pose, my chest puffing to epic proportions. From my left, Astrid salivates.


End file.
